


The Ripple of Time

by hiddenembers07



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Eventual Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, F/M, Jon Snow is Not Called Aegon, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, R Plus L Equals J, Ramsay Bolton is His Own Warning, Threat of Non-Con in the First Chapter, Time Travel, mild panic attack
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:14:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22752358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hiddenembers07/pseuds/hiddenembers07
Summary: “What would you do, red wolf, what would you give, to have your family alive. Your pack, whole and safe?”After the Night King, after the massacre of King’s Landing, after the death of Jon and Arya, Sansa gets made an offer to go back and change their fates. But sending someone back causes a ripple, a ripple that doesn’t just end up changing the present and future, but past events as well.Sansa wakes up in a world similar, yet vastly different, from the one she knew before.“The only thing I can guarantee, is that your pack will be alive, but the rest, the rest will be left to the ripple of time.”
Relationships: Catelyn Stark/Ned Stark, Jon Snow/Sansa Stark, Lyanna Stark/Rhaegar Targaryen
Comments: 261
Kudos: 746





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> So after reading so many amazing Jonsa fics, this idea entered my head, and before I knew it I had 5k written. This is my first time writing for this pairing (and years since I've written anything), so please let me know what you think.
> 
> Also this is an AU, so it might not be the way it was in the show/book, Sarella in particular is not the same, and the characters are all aged up because they are way too young to be going through the horrors they are in the book for me!
> 
> And if you have any Jonsa recs, particularly time travel ones, let me know! :D

“She will come with her dragon.”

Bran’s quiet voice doesn’t tell her anything she doesn’t know. 

Daenerys Targaryen was likely a just, kind ruler once. Back when she had been across the sea, setting slaves free and bringing justice to the people. But even the most just and kind person can only stand so much. And sometimes the ivory shatters before it can become steel.

“I know,” she replies, turning to look at the being who inhabits her brother. She used to think she could see glimpses of Bran in him still, the Bran she knew, her cheeky, lovable little brother.

But after the Night King, after the massacre of King’s Landing, the death of Jon and Arya, there’s nothing left of the boy she once knew. 

Stupid, noble, honourable Jon. Brave Jon who had realised too late that his Queen was not the good one he had thought. Who had tried to do the honourable thing and save them all, only to die at the hands of the Dragon Queen’s commander, Grey Worm.

And of course, once she had found out, her brave, infuriating, lovable sister had tried to avenge their loved one. Only to meet a similar fate.

She wonders if she has changed as much as her brother. Wonders if Bran looks at her and only sees a stranger.

“I will not bend the knee,” she continues, glaring at the heart tree ahead of them.

“I know,” he replies. “That’s why she’s here.”

And that has her attention, turning to look at her brother and the woman standing next to him. She doesn’t look much, the woman in old but well-kept clothes, her brown hair hanging limply around her dirty face, but her hazel eyes spark with life, something about them telling Sansa to underestimate this woman at her own risk.

“What would you do, red wolf, what would you give, to have your family alive. Your pack, whole and safe once more?”

The woman questions her as she steps forward, Sansa’s eyes drawn to the dagger in her hand, one of the Stark daggers that she knows Robb used to use. Bran must have given it to her, the thought not as comforting as one would think.

The question makes her breath catch for a moment, imagining her father, her mother, Robb, Arya, Jon, everyone back in Winterfell. Back in Winterfell, safe and happy and whole. The thought makes her chest ache, but she hasn’t gotten where she is now, hasn’t gone through what she has, by believing in pretty dreams and words.

“I’d say that’s a very pretty dream,” she answers, a smirk crossing the other woman’s face at her reply.

“But a dream you’d take if given the chance,” Bran cuts in, Sansa not missing the way it isn’t a question.

Of course she would, if such a thing was possible, but it’s not.

“But it is,” the woman says, as if answering her thoughts. “I can give you another chance, but these things don’t always work the way we want. Sending you back causes a ripple, and that ripple doesn’t just end up changing the present and future, but further in the past as well.”

The witch has moved closer now, standing well within Sansa’s personal space.

“The only thing I can guarantee, is that your pack will be alive, but the rest, the rest will be left to the ripple of time.”

Hope grips her for a moment, thinking of Jon before he had gone to Dragonstone, the smiles that reached his eyes and warmed her, before she shakes her head.

“I stopped believing in fairy tales and happy endings a long time ago.”

As she starts to move past her, the woman reaches out, gripping her arm with surprising strength.

“But you would if you could?” she asks again.

“Of course I would,” Sansa growls, “of course I would give anything to have my family back, to have Jon back, to not have to plan how to stand against a dragon. But we don’t get to wave a wand and change our fate. Why in all of Westeros would I believe that you could? And why would you want to change our fate.”

“Because I see what is coming, red wolf. I saw that Cersei Lannister would fall to another younger and more beautiful. And I see our world crumbling into fire and ash now. This is our only chance to stop that, to change things. The ripple will do more than just send you back, it will have far reaching consequences that even I can’t see. But you, you are our only hope now.”

She glares into the hazel eyes for a moment longer, before looking over at Bran.

“If you would, then why not let her try?” Bran replies, raising an eyebrow, “If nothing happens then you are no worse off.”

“Fine,” she bites out, “if it is quick, then let us try this farce so I can get back to trying to work out how to defeat a dragon.” 

A smile crosses the witch’s face then, as her hand reaches up with the dagger, moving so quickly that Sansa can’t stop her as she draws it across where she’s holding, cutting them both, her other hand rubbing something into the wounds, strange words leaving her mouth.

Ripping her arm away, Sansa tries to shake away the spots that enter her vision, her head suddenly feeling light.

“You can save us all, red wolf.”

It was with that whisper that Sansa loses consciousness, the last thought that enters her mind that she hopes that she wakes up soon, she doesn’t have time to waste on silly little dreams.

**

“Girl.”

Sansa can feel a light tapping on her face, wondering for a second what game Arya is playing at, before everything comes rushing back.

Winterfell.

The White Walkers.

The Night King.

The Dragon Queen.

Bran.

Arya.

_Jon._

She can’t stop herself from sitting up, almost smacking her head into that of the girl leaning over her, the world blurring for a moment, her stomach turning over at the movement as her head and arm throb.

“Are you okay?” the other girls asks, having moved her head out of the way just in time. Her emerald eyes show equal parts confusion and concern. Sansa quickly takes in the rest of her, her olive skin, brown hair pulled up into a messy bun, her clothes old but clean, and clearly well made.

“Where am I?”

When she woke up, she’d expected to be in Winterfell, in her bed, with Bran perhaps showing some emotion for once when he realized that the witch had been full of bluster. Another part of her, the darker part, had perhaps expected, hoped, that she wouldn’t wake up, would finally have some peace, to be able to stop fighting. She certainly hadn’t expected to wake in the middle of a city, lying on the hard ground, people moving about their lives at the end of the alley.

So the witch hadn’t been lying, had done what she had claimed she would do. If the witch had spoken the truth, then why was she lying here in a city. This was not Winterfell, and she doubted that her family were also lying on the streets with her here. Perhaps this was due to the ripple effect the witch spoke of? 

_“What would you do, red wolf, what would you give, to have your family alive. Your pack, whole and safe once more?”_

The witch had said her family would be alive, whole and safe. She hadn’t mentioned anything about Sansa being with them. Perhaps this is the price she had to pay to have them whole and safe? To not be a part of their world anymore?

And even though that thought makes her chest ache, she knows that she would happily live a common life away from her family, if it meant that they were alive and happy. Even if she is not a part of their lives, she can make sure that they get to live the lives they deserved.

Robb as the Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, Arya an adventurer, Bran a knight, Rickon whatever he would choose to be.

“King’s Landing,” the girl answers slowly, a slight Dornish accent slipping in, Sansa almost forgetting her question with the thoughts that were crowding her mind, “near the docks.”

It’s as the girl takes her in that Sansa realizes why she looks so confused and concerned. She’s in nothing more than a sleeping gown.

“Are you hurt?” the girl continues.

“No,” Sansa replies quietly, shaking her head. Her voice has lost some of its strength and harshness and she can’t help but wonder how old she is now.

The girl cocks an unbelieving eyebrow, Sansa watching as she takes the cape off her shoulders to wrap around her.

“What year is it?”

“297,” the girl replies instantly, as if that’s a normal question for someone to ask, as she stands up. “And we should move now.”

297\. A year before her world started to crumble. Robert Baratheon should still be King, Jon Arryn his Hand, and little Sansa Stark had previously been in Winterfell dreaming of a blonde southern Prince who would make her a Queen.

What a fool she had been. At ten and six, she had never known the horrors that awaited her with her dreams of going South. She wouldn’t make those mistakes again. She would protect her pack. She just had to figure out how.

“We?” Sansa asks, ignoring the hand being held out to help her up. She regrets it as the world spins once she gets to her feet, her arm throbbing, making her lean heavily against the wall behind her. The other girl smirks, eyebrow cocked up again, as if she had known what was going to happen when she stood.

“You’re more than welcome to try and survive King’s Landing on your own,” she replies, shrugging a shoulder. “I don’t like your chances, particularly if Littlefinger or one of his goons sees you.”

The smirk on the girl’s face grows when she sees the glare Littlefinger’s name brings. She’s not used to hiding her feelings behind a mask here at this age, her face clearly showing the anger she feels at the rat’s name.

The man who had betrayed her, betrayed her father and mother, betrayed Lord Ar-

Her thoughts come to a grinding halt.

Baelish.

Could that be why she was sent here? Is this the beginning of how she can protect her family? A man who would go on to betray her father and start the events that would lead to him losing his head. All because of his obsession with her mother.

“You know the rat?” the girl asks.

“By reputation,” Sansa bites out, frustrated at the show of emotion. She knows that she will be able to use her masks in time, but obviously moving from one time to another has affected her control.

The girl looks intrigued then, taking a step closer and holding her hand out.

“Sarella.”

“Alayne,” Sansa replies, not missing the disbelieving look in Sarella’s eyes. The other girl can’t be much older than her, but there’s something in her eyes that tells Sansa that she isn’t an innocent girl, that she has already seen her fair share of blood and fire.

“Well, _Alayne_ , are you coming with me or not? Because something tells me I would really love to hear about the plan that’s forming in that head of yours.”

Sansa knows that she can’t just trust blindly here, but right now Sarella is the closest thing she has to an ally, and she has nowhere else to turn. Even if the girl just helps her find some clothes, that would be a start.

“Where exactly are we going?” she asks, as they walk out of the alley way, pulling the cloak Sarella had given her tighter around her shoulders.

“My mother’s ship is in the docks,” Sarella answers, moving swiftly through the crowd, Sansa dogging her foot steps to keep up. “I’ll get you some clothes there.”

Sansa wonders what she wants, wonders whether she is about to sell herself into slavery for trusting a girl foolishly. With those thoughts her steps slow as they get closer to a boat, her heart racing, as images from her life flash into her mind.

Joffrey.

Ramsay.

Baelish.

She has to swallow, as bile rises in her throat. Her new body’s inability to handle these horrors is going to get tiresome quickly. She can’t afford to be affected by these memories if she is to survive and protect her pack.

Sarella stops and turns when she notices that Sansa is no longer following her, a question clear on her face, before it clears.

“You can wait here,” she says, turning to look quickly at a boat, before looking back at her. “I’ll grab some clothes and be back.”

“Why?” Sansa manages to croak out. “Why would you help a girl you don’t know?”

That has the other girl freeze completely, Sansa not realizing that she had seemed to be constantly moving until that point.

“My father once told me that our fate often shows itself at times we are not expecting, setting us on a path we had not foreseen. Small things, that don’t seem much to the individual, can change things in ways we don’t yet know. I don’t know why, but something tells me that my fate is entwined with yours.”

Sansa snorts at that. She has never met a Sarella in her world, has never even heard of a girl named that. Their fates are not entwined, but people who believe as she does are often easy to use and loyal to a fault.

“You don’t believe me,” she continues, the smirk coming back to her face. “And that’s okay. But if you plan to do something to that rat, and we both know eventually you will plan something, then I want to be a part of it.”

Now that, _vengeance_ , is something that Sansa can understand. Can understand better than fate. Sarella has some past with Littlefinger, the man clearly having wronged her somehow, and vengeance is something that Sansa can believe in.

“Ahh, I see that has bought me a modicum of your trust, even if fate has not.”

Sansa just raises an eyebrow, not missing the small laugh that leaves the other girl.

“Wait here, _Alayne_.”

And with those words she is gone, Sansa losing her as she darts into the crowd. She had expected that people would ignore her, just a lost girl, not someone to pay any mind to, but she can start to feel eyes on her after only a few minutes.

“Alright there, dove?”

The endearment has her stiffening, looking up cautiously at the man who has stopped next to her. She is quick to note another man stopping also, looking back at his friend and then to her, a dark, hungry look coming into his eyes, something that she has seen before and makes her skin crawl.

She quickly takes them in, noting their height, their weight and their weapons.

She won’t stand a chance.

“Just waiting on my father and brothers,” she lies, forcing a smile on her face. “They will be back any moment now.”

The other man seems to believe her, starting to turn back to be on their way, but the man in front of her only steps closer, the movement stopping the other one again.

“Well, perhaps we should wait with you,” he says, still moving closer. It takes all her will to stop this body from moving back, lifting her chin up higher and trying to bring the coldness that had become her trademark into her gaze.

Queen of Ice.

“I think you should be on your way.”

She’s able to duck the hand that reaches for her, not having noticed the other man had managed to get around her, grabbing her arm and pulling her hard against him, a knife sticking into her ribs. A warning not to yell. His hand squeezes her arm, the pain it elicits shocking her, not sure why it hurts so much.

“Now, now, dove, don’t struggle,” the ugly one in front of her says, grinning as the other man starts to pull her back.

She looks around for help, but everyone seems to be avoiding looking at them, and she can feel her body freezing, everything Jon had taught her about defending herself flying out the window.

The man in front of her continues to grin as the other pulls her back towards the alley way Sarella had found her in, the dark look in his eyes making her stomach turn, having seen it many times before.

“This will be easier if you don’t struggle.”

“I could say the same.”

She feels the man behind her go stiff at the quiet voice, before collapsing, Sansa just managing to keep her feet as he almost pulls her backwards with him.

Sarella stands behind them, a satchel on her back and a dagger in her hand. Even though the man collapsed, the only sign of blood on the dagger is just on the tip.

“You killed him,” the ugly man in front of them snarls, drawing his sword.

“Oh no,” Sarella answers, moving in front of her. “He’s just paralysed, it’ll wear off.”

But the man doesn’t seem to care, rushing towards them. Sarella pushes the satchel into her, pushing her back as she dodges the first swing of the sword. The crowd around them cry out, people apparently now seeing what’s going on, rushing to get out of the way of the two fighters.

“Is that all you’ve got?” Sarella goads, Sansa seeing daggers in both her hands now. The man rushes her again, the young girl moving quickly and dodging it, one of her daggers making contact with his hand. She manages to dodge his blows, ducking and weaving, parrying his blows in a way that would have made Robb and Jon jealous.

“And that’s that,” she says, grinning as the man suddenly freezes, staring at her in shock before collapsing like his friend.

“How-“

But before she can finish her question, they hear the clank of armour.

“Someone called the guards,” Sarella says, putting her daggers away as if they aren’t in trouble. Sansa remembers what the guards were like, knows that they will show two common girls no mercy.

“We need to run,” she replies, reaching out to grab Sarella’s hand, quickly looking around for a place to run. Sarella only laughs at her, Sansa realizing it’s too late to flee as the guards come into view.

“What is the mea-” the guard’s words are cut off as he takes in Sarella, the men all quickly standing at attention as they take her in.

“Lady Sarella.”

“Not a Lady,” Sarella replies, smirking at the man.

“We are aware of the leeway that the King and Queen give you due to your position,” the guard continues, ignoring the correction, and that has Sansa’s thoughts pausing. Robert would likely appreciate and approve of the girls fighting ability, but there would be no way Cersei would allow it, unless this girl was someone of importance. “But they will not approve of you fighting in the street.”

“They also don’t approve of men trying to spirit girls away for nefarious purposes,” Sarella replies, “though if you’d like to tell Queen Lyanna that you had me thrown in a cell for stopping them, please do so when I have the chance to be there to see her face.”

Sansa doesn’t miss the way the guards face pales, before Sarella’s words play through her head.

Queen Lyanna?

Her Aunt Lyanna?

She can’t help the way her breathing quickens at the thought, wondering if she hit her head before she woke up.

“Queen Lyanna?” she asks, looking over at Sarella, not missing the confused look that comes into the other girl’s eyes.

“Her and King Rhaegar don’t take kindly to men like that,” Sarella replies, spitting on the ground. “Take them to the cells.”

The guards hesitate for a moment, before the harsh ‘now’ Sarella bites out, has them moving.

King Rhaegar and Queen Lyanna. 

Her Aunt had survived in this time line.

The witch had told her, told her that sending her back would cause a ripple, a ripple that would not only allow her to change the future, but would have far reaching consequences on the past. Had told her that her pack would be alive and whole once more.

She had not realized that that could mean more than just her immediate family, but her extended family too.

If her Aunt Lyanna survived, did that mean her Uncle Brandon might have as well? Her grandfather? But if they had, then how had her parents married? And what did that mean for Jon? Was he here, in King’s Landing?

She doesn’t realise that her breathing has sky rocketed, her head dizzy, and spots flashing across her vision.

“You’re bleeding?!” she hears distantly, feeling her arm gently pulled forward. Looking down, she sees blood oozing from it. Sarella is in front of her now, speaking, but she can’t focus, and before she knows it, her vision goes black, everything stopping as she passes out.


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa gets a few more pieces to the puzzle of what her life is like in this new world when she meets the King, the Queen and their family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG! Firstly, I can't thank everyone enough for the feedback on the first chapter! I was so nervous posting, not sure how the idea would come across and flow, so I can't thank you all enough for reading, commenting, kudosing (is that a word? I don't think it is, but let's just go with it) and bookmarking. You guys made my week with it all.
> 
> Also, apologies this wasn't up sooner, had a killer headache for two days that I just had to sleep off.
> 
> And also apologies that this wasn't marked as multi-chapter! Thanks so much to reader_consumed and thealpha17 for letting me know!

There’s a throbbing in her head when she wakes this time, the light from the window making her wince when she opens her eyes.

“Feeling alright there, Alayne?”

She glances over at the voice, somewhat surprised to see Sarella. The other girl is sitting on a chair, two of its legs off the ground as she pushes her legs against the bed, playing with a small knife between her fingers.

“Where am I?” and the question brings a small snort from the other girl.

“I’m starting to think that’s your favourite question when you first wake.”

Sansa can’t stop herself from rolling her eyes, regretting it when the pain flares in her head, but also with the slip she never would have allowed herself in her previous life.

“The Red Keep,” Sarella finally answers, throwing the knife up with one hand and then catching it. “The King wants to have a trial for those men who tried to grab you. Apparently things have deteriorated somewhat since I went back to Dorne, and he wants to make an example of them. But to do that, he needs you there, what with you being the witness.”

Her stomach turns at the fact she’s back in the Red Keep, memories from her previous life flashing before her eyes, before she pushes them back. She knows that her companion has seen the look though, her masks still not coming to her as easily as they once did.

“Don’t worry, you won’t have to say anything, but you do need to be there and for that we need to get you dressed,” Sarella continues, letting the questions Sansa can see behind her eyes go, “and to the throne room. The sooner his Grace gives the sentence, the sooner we can talk about this plan you have.”

Sansa tries to glare at the other girl as she sits up, knowing it probably loses some of its effect at the wince she gives with the flare of pain it causes.

“Oh here,” the girl says, handing her a potion. “Maester Pycelle said to give this to you when you woke.”

Reaching out, she takes the vial a little reluctantly, before remembering that Pycelle isn’t working with Cersei, and has no reason to try and poison her. She grimaces at the taste as it goes down, wondering how long it will take to work. Whilst he still haunts her dreams somewhat with the creation he made, the man was very good at what he did, as evident by the slight decrease in the pain in her head already.

“One of the maid’s found a dress for you,” she continues, pointing to a plain blue dress hanging on a chair. “Will you manage by yourself?”

It’s a strange thing for the girl to ask her, what with having found Sansa on the street and Sansa never telling her she was more than a common girl. Sarella smirks at her then, raising an eyebrow as she tacks on an “Alayne.”

“I will be fine,” she sniffs, the dizziness as she stands making her unsteady for a moment, before it settles. As the ache in her head settles, she feels the one in her arm, noticing that it’s been attended to whilst she was sleeping.

“Then I will be outside when you’re done.”

With that, Sarella leaves, closing the door gently behind her. Moving slowly, she picks up the dress, smiling when she sees the obvious care that went into making the dress. Changing into it, she’s grateful for the simple design, able to pull it on and lace it up easily, tying her hair into a simple braid.

Sarella is speaking quietly to one of the Kingsguard when she exits, finishing whatever they’re talking about quickly with a nod of her head.

“Shall we?” she asks, sweeping her arm out in an exaggerated bow. Sansa rolls her eyes again, not able to stop the small smile that comes to her face, charmed despite herself, but she has to remember, has to remember the lessons she learnt the last time.

Even if this is a different world, the court is still the same, people using secrets and words as weapons. There are few you can trust, and trusting someone you have just met is a stupid mistake she would have made in her previous life at this age. But there’s something about the other girl, her carefree grin, her bright eyes, the way she had helped and protected a girl she had just found on the street, that makes Sansa want to trust her.

The guard follows behind them as they make their way through the Keep, Sarella chatting about some of the art they pass. This Red Keep is very different to the one she knew before, the Targaryen colours hanging prominently where Baratheon once did.

She pays attention to the way they’re walking, to the people they pass, and to what the girl next to her is saying. Baelish may have been many things, but he was right when he said that you never knew what information was important until it was.

She wonders if he’s still the Master of Coin in this world, but her thoughts come screeching to a halt when they enter the hallway that leads to the throne room, her eyes meeting curious grey ones, her heart freezing for a moment, before racing.

He looks like he did just before they had all left Winterfell. Her to go South, him to the Wall. His curls hanging around his face, looking as soft as they always did, his skin unmarked, small, kind smile on his face.

“Jon,” she whispers. She knows that Sarella has heard her by the way that she stops midsentence, turning towards her. Sansa can’t stop her eyes darting to her companion, not missing the way the curiosity increases in the girls’ eyes.

Sarella simply raises an eyebrow, knowing smirk on her face, as they continue their walk towards the throne room doors, and the man standing before them.

“Prince Jaehaerys,” she says as they get closer, bowing to the man. Sansa’s curtsy is slightly slower, having to pull her eyes away from the intense grey one’s staring at her to do it.

“Sarella,” Jon replies, his voice making Sansa’s heart skip a beat. She had almost forgotten what it sounded like, the deep, gravelly voice that had come to mean so much to her, had come to mean home and safety and something else that she had never let herself focus on. Initially, because she thought he was her half-brother, and then because they had a war to fight.

“My lady,” he continues, giving a small bow of his own to her, eyes dipping to the ground before meeting hers again. She can’t help the beaming smile that crosses her face as they look at each other, relief flooding through her to see him here, safe and whole. She wants to reach out and hug him, prove to herself that he really is here, but she still doesn't know where she fits in this world, and a commoner hugging a prince would cause a stir she can't afford right now.

She knows Sarella is about to say something about the both of them, but her words are cut off as the doors to the throne room open, a guard nodding at them, before turning to have them announced.

Her eyes flick back to Jon, who gives her another small smile before striding into the room, Sarella still smirking at the two of them.

“And we will be discussing how you know the Prince well enough to call him by his nickname after this,” Sarella murmurs quietly, coming to stand next to her. “But right now we’re needed before the King.”

With that she leads Sansa into the room, and whilst there are small changes, mainly the banners hanging, the throne room remains the same, the only major difference that a white haired king with violet eyes now sits on the throne, smiling down at her.

She sweeps into a low curtsy this time, not missing Sarella’s snort.

“Dear niece,” King Rhaegar starts, Sansa wondering if perhaps she is known in this world, is known to the royal family, only for the King to be interrupted from continuing by a different voice, “Cat?”

She looks up at that, unable to hold in a gasp of her own, for the man standing before her, with his dark hair and grey eyes, looks like a slightly older version of her father.

“Ser Brandon?” the King questions, looking at what had to be one of his Kingsguard going by the armour he wore. But her Uncle Brandon can only stare at her, not replying to his King’s question.

“I am not my Lady mother, Uncle” Sansa answers into the silence, knowing that she should have waited for the King’s permission to speak, but unable to stop herself when seeing the look of almost anguish on her Uncle’s face.

“Sansa,” he then whispers, staring at her in disbelief for a moment longer, before striding down the steps and pulling her up into a hug. It’s highly improper, and if this was her previous life, if this had been King Robert and Queen Cersei’s court, there would likely have been punishments made. But King Rhaegar seems somewhat amused, small smile on his face at the scene.

“What in the Old Gods names are you doing in King’s Landing?” he asks, cupping her face, before a thunderous look crosses his face, eyes flicking over her shoulder. “You tried to take my niece?”

Turning, she sees the two men that had tried to grab her, both of them having been brought in, their wrists and ankles chained. Her Uncle lets her go and takes a step towards them.

“Ser Brandon.”

The voice this time is sharp, but hasn’t come from the King. Sansa almost gasps again when she looks back towards the throne. If she didn’t know better, she’d think she was seeing Arya grown up. The woman’s brunette hair up in a simple knot, her crown resting comfortable, grey eyes taking them all in, before focusing on her brother.

“The point of today is to punish these men for their crimes,” her Aunt says, raising an eyebrow. “Return to your post.”

Her Uncle’s jaw clenches, and it’s in that moment that he reminds her so much of her father that her chest aches, part of her forgetting how much she has missed her father dearly, before he nods his head, making his way up next to the throne.

“Forgive us, Lady Sansa,” Rhaegar says, “if we had known it was you that my darling niece had saved, we would have ensured you were assisted as is accustom to a Lady of your standing.”

She doesn’t miss the roll of the eyes the comment gets from her Aunt. It’s then that she is able to take in the others sitting down from the Iron Throne, taking in what can only be the other members of the royal family, Aegon, Rhaenys, their violet eyes and white hair the spitting image of their father, before landing on Jon again.

Jon who is not looking at her, but darkly at the men behind her.

“There is nothing to forgive, your Grace,” she replies, eyes drifting from Jon to meet the King’s.

“A story for another time,” Rhaegar responds, sending her a small smile again, before his face shifts into something more sharp and biting.

“Janas Blackwood. Dran Mertyns. You are called here today to answer for your crimes. For attempting to take a woman away against her will, and for attacking my niece. But it seems that your crimes are far more grave than we knew, having attempted to spirit away the eldest daughter of one of our most loyal houses, House Stark.”

The two men both protest, stopping when the King raises a hand.

“Let this be a lesson not only for you, but for those who seem to have forgotten the law, for your crimes there can only be one punishment. The Wall will have you and pray that Lord Eddard does not reach you before you reach there.”

The verdict has the court whispering, not only about the men, but about her as well. She can feel their eyes on her, can hear their muttered questions, all of them wondering how it came that she had appeared in King’s Landing.

“Whilst we still have more cases to hear today, I give leave to Lady Sansa,” Rhaegar continues, the warm smile back on his face. “We will meet later to discuss further how you came to be so far from home. Sarella, will you please escort Lady Sansa to the garden whilst we have rooms readied for her.”

Sarella gives a small bow, Sansa following her with a curtsy, eyes meeting Jon’s once more, needing to take him in once more, before following the other girl out of the room. She can see the smirk on the other girl’s face out of the corner of her eye.

“So, Lady Sansa, huh?”

Sansa just gives a small shrug, holding her head high as they walk.

“The King’s 'darling' niece?” she fires back, not missing the way the other girl’s smirk just turns into more of a grin, her shoulders shrugging back. Sansa will need to get more information about that later, because the girl clearly holds some sway with the King, if not the Queen, and she remembers how the guards had addressed her back at the dock.

Just who was Sarella here?

“So how did Winterfell’s daughter get all the way to King’s Landing in only her night shift?”

“I don’t know,” she answers truthfully, and the question is one Sansa would like the answer to as well. The witch had warned her, that all she could assure her was that her pack would be alive and safe. As safe as Westeros could be, Sansa assumes.

But surely it would’ve been easier magic to send her back to Winterfell? She had thought, initially that perhaps in this new world, she didn’t live in Winterfell, that she wasn’t known here as Lord Eddard and Lady Catelyn’s daughter, but it’s clear from the reactions she just saw that she is.

So how and why did the witch transport her here?

Her mind wanders back to Baelish then. Because even if this is a new world, if he’s here, then she very much doubts that he has changed. He’d planned things meticulously, she can see that now, planning Lord Arryn’s death, manipulating events to turn House Stark against House Lannister, all to try and get her mother.

Even if things are different, he’s still a threat. And she will protect her pack this time.

She almost jumps when an arm winds around hers, staring in shock at Sarella, before she hears a throat being cleared in front of them.

And she curses her thoughts then, wondering if they have conjured the man standing in front of them with what he no doubt thinks is a kind smile on his face. And if Sansa hadn’t known him, hadn’t seen the puppet master underneath as he played his game, she no doubt would have fallen for it.

“Lady Sansa, I presume?”


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Sansa has to be polite to Baelish (which she hates), Sarella pretends to be dense (she's not) and Jon is terrible at talking to pretty girls (Oh, Jon).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it has been an absolutely hectic week, which stopped this going up sooner. Thank you as always to everyone who read, kudos'ed and favourited. And massive thank you to those who commented! You guys really make my day when I get to read what you think!
> 
> Hope you enjoy :D

“Careful, your fangs are almost showing, wolf.”

It’s Sarella’s quiet murmur as she turns her head to bring her mouth closer to Sansa’s ear, that allows Sansa to pull a polite smile onto her face.

“I’m sorry, my lord, but I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure?”

She had forgotten how much she had grown to hate him by the end, her hands itching to reach out and inflict even a fraction of the pain that he had brought down on her and her family. All the while claiming that he loved her.

But she is not the Lady of Winterfell here, she is little Sansa Stark, who was spirited away from her home and saved by a kind soul before something awful could happen. Doing anything more now would only peak Littlefinger’s curiosity and draw his gaze, both of which she had had enough of to last her a life time.

“How rude of me not to introduce myself, milday,” he answers, his voice making her stiffen, Sarella squeezing her arm in reassurance gently. “My name is Petyr Baelish, perhaps your mother mentioned me?”

She takes petty joy in shaking her head, pretending to look confused.

“I’m afraid she has not,” she answers, not missing the flash of pain that crosses the man’s face.

“Ah well, I suppose your mother is quite busy in Winterfell.”

“That she is, my lord,” she replies, smiling sweetly. She wants to say more, wants to mention how much her mother loves her life, her father, her family, but she needs to keep the upper hand here, and that means being somewhat nice to the rat.

“She must be worried sick about you. I was just on my way to the rookery to send her a raven.”

“That won’t be necessary, my lord,” Sarella answers, Sansa seeing the sharp flash of a grin from the girl. “Lady Sansa wishes to write to her family, I was just showing her the way.”

Baelish takes in their entwined arms with a narrow glance, before finally looking at Sansa’s companion. Sarella doesn’t stiffen, but there’s something about the way she stills that reminds her of Arya after she had come back to Winterfell, after she had learnt to be no one. The stillness is like a wolf ready to strike.

“I’d be happy to escort the Lady Sansa,” he replies.

“Nonsense, my Lord,” Sarella answers sweetly. “The Master of Coin must have much to do. And the King has asked that I keep Lady Sansa company until her rooms are ready.”

“And I do wish to send the raven as soon as possible,” Sansa continues, “so if you’d excuse us, my Lord?”

She knows it’s somewhat rude not to wait for Baelish to respond, but she knows her youth can excuse it as she starts moving forwards, Sarella matching her steps.

“I’m sure we can get to know each other another time,” he states, giving them a small bow, Sansa not missing the look, which is his hidden version of a glare, he sends Sarella. She knew that Sarella had a history with the man, but it takes a lot for Baelish to show that kind of emotion, and she is intrigued to know the story there.

They head to the rookery then, Sansa not wanting to raise the suspicions of the man yet by heading to the garden instead, knowing how much more difficult it will be here if he’s watching them with more than casual interest.

It’s not until they are on their way up the stairs of the rookery that Sarella lets her arm go, her face shifting from the polite one she had been wearing to anger.

“The sooner you tel-”

She cuts off whatever she was about to say as Sansa shakes her head, rolling her eyes before nodding back that she understands what Sansa is trying to say. Here is not the place to be discussing any plans, with too many ways for others to hear them. And in truth, she’s not sure what to do about the man yet. She needs to understand this new world, and his place in it, before she is able to formulate something that will stop him from hurting the one’s she loves.

When she gets to the rookery though, she realizes she has no idea what to write to her family. What was this world’s Sansa like? What would _she_ write? In the end she writes a simple letter, explaining that she is in King’s Landing, that she doesn’t know how she got here, but that she is unharmed, and the King and Queen have been kind enough to let her stay in the Keep for now.

When they’re done, Sarella leads her into a garden and to a table that servants are placing food and drinks on.

“Well, my Uncle does seem to want to impress you,” Sarella comments taking in the table and its contents, looking a little confused, before realization crosses her face.

“He doesn’t do this for all the Lords and Ladies?”

Sarella picks up a lemon cake, taking a large bite as she shakes her head, sitting down with one of her legs thrown over the arm rest. Sansa sits down on the chair the way it’s meant to be used, grabbing one of the cakes for herself, taking a more delicate bite. She can’t help but wonder how her new companion fits into this world, what with the lack of table manners she has and the fact the girl said she wasn’t a lady.

“So why for me?” she asks, when Sarella continues to eat.

“I’d say it’s because whilst Winterfell is loyal to the crown, and everyone knows how honorable Ned Stark is, House Stark still hasn’t forgiven its daughter and the man she married for almost destroying them. And his Grace would give anything to mend the bridge between his wife and her brother.”

That has Sansa stopping, not forgetting the way her Aunt had rolled her eyes, though perhaps that had been directed at her husband and not her. She wonders what exactly had happened in this time line. She knows her father, knows that he loves his family more than anything, had loved his sister dearly given he’d kept her secret to his grave, but that he also is one of the most honourable men she ever met.

She wonders if the younger her had grown up with the story of her Aunt and the King, or if her parents had locked it away, never talking about it.

She has a feeling that it was likely the latter option.

“Which is why I find it so interesting that you called the Prince ‘Jon’,” Sarella continues, amusement and curiosity on her face.

“But perhaps that’s a story for another time,” she responds before Sansa can, turning her head.

“Prince Jaehaerys, the King let you leave the session early?”

And Sansa can’t stop the way her heart rate picks up when she sees him walking toward them. She’s able to take in more now that the shock has worn away, the dark leather fitting him well, the Targaryen house symbol imprinted on it. She tries to ignore how well it hugs his body, showing off that the Prince clearly trains well.

She stops herself there, reminding herself that she doesn’t have time for fanciful thoughts of handsome princes and their shy smiles. She’s here to save her pack, not to pay attention to and address the feelings she had long pushed aside for the man now standing before them.

“He thought perhaps I could escort my cousin to her rooms?”

Sansa can’t help but smile at the way it sounds like a question. He’s a Prince here, far above her, and yet he seems so unsure. It’s so Jon-like that she can’t help the ache that settles in her chest, and yet, there’s something in his gaze, something that darkens them that tells her that he isn’t exactly like the young boy she had once known. She wonders if he's acting this way because of _her_ and again, she stops her thoughts. She long stopped daydreaming about handsome princes and dashing knights, and has no intention of starting that nonsense again. It cost her too much last time.

“That would be lovely,” she murmurs, rising to her feet and taking his arm, trying to ignore the warmth that runs through her as she winds her arm through his. It had been so long since she’d last touch Jon, had last had him look at her with such an open gaze. Her heart had broken when he’d returned to Winterfell, when the nights they used to spend in front of the fire, the nights he would teach her how to defend herself, the nights they would talk for hours or just sit together both doing their own things, no longer occurred.

It was like she had lost him the moment he had left for Dragonstone, only catching the odd glimpse of her Jon once he returned. And so she can’t help but smile at him, warmth filling her at the one he returned.

Sarella crams the rest of the cake she had been eating into her mouth before rising as well.

“You can stay and enjoy the spread,” Sansa says, hoping the other girl will take the hint. By the glint in Sarella’s eyes, the girl knows very well that she wishes to be alone with Jon.

“And leave you and the Prince unchaperoned?” she asks, holding a hand to her chest in mock outrage. “What would the King and Queen, the court, think?”

Glaring at the girl, who simply grins back, Sansa takes a deep, calming breath, unable to stop the small jolt when Jon’s other hand comes up to squeeze the one on his arm.

“Alright, let’s get moving before the sight of you two getting lost in each other’s eyes makes me lose my cakes.”

And with that she strides past them, Jon looking at her back with amusement, before gently moving Sansa forwards. They walk for a time in an awkward silence, Sansa uncertain what kind of conversation she would have started in this world, Jon stealing glances at her from the corner of his eye, a red flush creeping up his neck when their eyes meet.

“So, Prince Jaehaerys,” she starts, only to be cut off by a quiet, “Jon.”

“I’m sorry?”

He looks at her then, bashful grin on his face.

“I know it has been many years since we last saw each other, my lady, that there is much that lays between our families, but I’d very much prefer you call me Jon.”

“Prince Jon, then?”

He seems to be about to argue something again, before his eyes take in not only Sarella, but also the people walking past.

“For now,” he murmurs, as they continue to walk.

“You shouldn't be here, my lady,” he says, and that comment has her stiffening slightly, Sarella letting out a snort where she walks in front of them.

“I mean,” he continues, panic on his face. “You should be at home, in Winterfell, not having to deal with being spirited away. I’m sorry with how you got to be here, not that you’re here …”

She can’t help but smile at his rambling, squeezing his arm as he trails off.

“I understand, your Highness,” she replies. “Whilst I am still shocked with how I came to be here, and do wish that I had left Winterfell in slightly different circumstances, I am glad to be here also.”

She can see Sarella attempting to smother her laugh with a cough, glaring at the other girl when she turns towards them.

“Your rooms, my lady,” she says, amusement clear to see on her face as her eyes flit between her and Jon.

“Until next time, Prince Jon.”

She’s reluctant to let go of his arm, wishes she could invite him into her room to talk like they used to. But that was another life and things are different here.

She can’t stop the warmth that creeps up her face though when he grabs her hand as she lets go, placing a small kiss on the back of it, his grey eyes staring at her intently as he lets go.

“My Lady.”

“Your Highness.”

“Ugh,” she hears behind them, knowing Sarella is rolling her eyes even without seeing her. “You two are already too sickeningly sweet. Off with you, your highness, before I tell my delightful cousins about this.”

Jon’s eyes flick over her shoulder, small grin on his face, before he turns and strides away.

“There is no way that Egg wasn’t the one to tell him about that move,” Sarella says, pushing open the door if the creak behind her is any indication. She turns and raises an eyebrow at the girl.

“Egg?”

“Prince Aegon,” Sarella supplies, walking into the room, Sansa following her in. “I thought he’d be the one I’d have to watch around you. That boy is as smooth as they come, and more than one fair maiden has fallen for his charms.”

That’s an interesting bit of information to have and she files it away for later, taking in her room. It’s not the same one as last time she was here, thank the Old Gods, as she doesn’t know how she would have been able to manage it if they had given them to her.

This room is bigger, a small balcony clear to see through the open doors, and the colours brighten the room, unlike the darker colours Cersei had had her last room decked out in. Someone has gone to the effort to have a grey throw placed on one of the chairs, a nod to her House, and she feels touched that someone had thought of it.

“So can we talk about it now?”

She can’t help but grin as she looks over to her companion, who is looking back at her impatiently. The girl reminds her so much of Arya then, of the way her sister was always so eager to get things started. Even after she had come back, whilst she had learnt patience, she still liked to progress things quickly if she could.

“Do you know,” she starts, as she walks over to her balcony. “When I was younger, I heard a story about how even the walls could have ears.”

She can see that Sarella understands, the other girl nodding, even though a frown crosses her face.

“Perhaps we can take a walk down to the bay tomorrow,” she offers.

And with the way Sarella picks up her hint, Sansa is starting to hope that she really can trust this girl. It would be nice to have an ally, possibly a friend, in this place. As if proving her point, there’s a soft knock on the door, a young servant coming in, curtsying to them both.

“Forgive me for interrupting, my ladies,” which earns an eye roll from Sarella and a grin from Sansa. She can’t wait to hear the story there. “But King Rhaegar has asked that the Lady Sansa dine with him and the Queen tonight, and has sent me to assist milady in dressing.”

“Dressing?” Sansa asks, looking down at the simple gown she’s already in. The servant nods, moving towards the cupboard and opening it. Sansa can feel the shock cross her face, taking in the beautiful gowns that are housed within.

“Is this-”

“Uncle Rhaegar always knows how to impress people,” Sarella cuts her off, flopping down in a chair. Sansa ignores her, walking over to gently touch the gowns. In her previous life, she would have been overwhelmingly impressed, but now, she can’t forget that Cersei did the same.

Flipping through the gowns, she finally finds one that reminds her of her gowns back home, the navy blue gown with long sleeves and a high collar, although the back is open to the air. It’s still the most northern like in the cupboard, and right now she needs something that reminds her of home, and not the last time she was here.

“This will do nicely,” she says, smiling at the maid as she takes it out and lays it on the bed. “Thank you for escorting me to the gardens and my rooms, Sarella.”

Sarella takes the hint this time, rolling to her feet.

“I need to go and speak to a man about a stag anyway,” she replies, as she heads towards the door.

“Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow.”

And hopefully by then, Sansa will have a better picture of this new world she lives in, and how she’ll go about protecting her pack from the mockingbird and the others she knows are just waiting in the wings to destroy House Stark.


	4. Winterfell Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Stark's discover Sansa is missing and the search begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always thank you to everyone who read, bookmarked, and kudos'ed the last chapter. And a huge thank you to those who commented. I live for reading your comments! They make my day :D
> 
> So some people have commented about seeing how the Starks' reacted to Sansa going missing, and seeing the Starks in general, so thought I'd write a brief interlude with how Ned reacted. Also, the last line is one of my favourites so far in this fic (and will be explored later when Ned finally gets to King's Landing).

It’s Arya that notices first, that starts searching the castle for her elder sister.

She had come to Ned after breakfast, face angry as she complained that Sansa was avoiding her. Which was not uncommon, Sansa and Arya having grown somewhat apart in the last year, something Ned was hoping would revert itself soon.

So no, that wasn’t uncommon. What was, was Robb and Cat not being able to find her either.

It was when they had both come to him, both with worried looks on their faces, that Ned’s world had frozen for a moment. And in that moment, he felt like he did all those years ago when he had just been a young boy, when another young Stark girl had gone missing from her bed. 

Fear and worry and panic filling him.

Helplessness.

But he wasn’t that boy anymore, he was the Lord of Winterfell, and he couldn’t let those feelings rule him for a more than a moment, not with the way his wife and eldest son were looking at him with the same emotions, both clearly only just holding onto their composure. It took everything he had to push them down and look at them with a calm gaze.

“Have the men search Winterfell and Wintertown,” he commands Jory, standing up and moving around his desk, Jory leaving as soon as he has his orders. “Master Luwin, have ravens sent to our allies, including Robert and Jon Arryn. And then send one to Benjen.”

“Of course, my Lord,” Luwin replies, “would you like one sent to King’s Landing?”

The question has him freezing, stopping the instant ‘no’ that wants to come out at the thought of letting the King know that another daughter of Winterfell has been taken. But this was Sansa, and he can’t let his feelings stop him from reaching out to those who can possibly help find his daughter.

“Yes,” he answers, not missing the shock that crosses Cat’s face. “But send it to Brandon.”

“Of course, my lord.”

And with that Luwin also exits the room. Cat comes forward then, grabbing his hand in a tight grip, her fear and worry making him grip back tightly.

“Ned.”

“We’ll find her,” he replies, giving her hand a squeeze, before turning to Robb. “What have you found?”

“When Arya first came to me, I just thought Sansa was avoiding her, but then Jeyne and the other girls said that she wasn’t with them,” Robb answers. “So I went to her rooms, she wasn’t there and there was no signs of a struggle or that anything out of the ordinary had occurred. So went to the kennels and found Lady trying to tear her cage apart to get out. Thought she might be able to track Sansa so let her out, she went to Sansa’s rooms, then the Godswoods, and then took off out of Winterfell. We didn’t have horses so we couldn’t follow, but Greywind will be able to track Lady’s scent.”

“No signs of a struggle?”

“None, father,” Robb replies, swallowing hard. “And nothing to show a scuffle in the Godswoods either.”

“So either they took her unawares or …”

He rubs his face, remembering the last time this had happened, how there had been no signs of a struggle then either, no trace at all.

“Sansa wouldn’t.”

“Cat.”

“No, Ned,” Cat answers, voice and face hard now, pulling her hand out of his grasp. “She wouldn’t. She isn’t Lyanna. She wouldn’t do this to us. Someone has _taken_ her and I won’t have anyone think that she has run off.”

“We need to look at all possibilities,” he replies.

“She wouldn’t.”

But it’s not Cat who says it this time, it’s Robb, his jaw clenched.

“Sansa would never do anything like that and if we go down that route we’re wasting time, time that could be used to _find_ her.”

He nods then, knowing that they’re right, but unable to stop the small voice, the small voice that keeps reminding him that last time a Stark daughter went missing, she had been more than willing to leave.

**

Benjen arrives three days later, his horse looking ready to collapse, the same emotions Ned has been trying to keep at bay clear on his face. His brother doesn’t even hesitate to pull him into a hug, the two of them reminded of the last time this had happened.

“Any news?” his brother asks as they walk towards his rooms.

“Nothing. No signs of a struggle, no new faces in Winterfell or Wintertown, no notes or demands. We’ve caught up to all the traders that left recently, nothing. Tracked those sneaking around in the woods, nothing. It’s like she just vanished.”

“There’s been no Wildling sightings in the last week, but I’ve sent the boys out to see if there’s any signs on the other side. They have sneaked past us before.”

And that’s a thought that Ned’s been trying to ignore. That the Wildlings may have taken, stolen, his daughter. He knows it isn’t uncommon for them to steal women, the practice something they almost seem proud of.

“We’ll find her, Ned.”

They make their way into his rooms then, a meal having been placed on the table already for his brother. He collapses into his chair, letting himself feel some of the worry and fear that he’s been pushing down. Benjen is the only person he would ever let see him like this, the only person other than Brandon that could fully understand what he’s feeling.

“How’s Cat taking it? The children?”

“It’s taking all of my reasoning to stop Cat from getting on a horse and riding out to look for her,” he answers, not missing the smile that brings to his brother’s face. “Hells, I want to do it myself, but we’ve no lead, no signs to follow. Even if we had a direction, I’d have every able man out there, but there’s nothing. And I won’t have us spread out for whoever did this to pick us off one by one.”

“So nothing?”

“The only thing we have is Lady leaving, Robb, Theon and Greywind are following her trail. I almost had to lock Arya in her room when they left. I don't think she'll ever forgive me for not letting her go with them to look for Sansa. She keeps saying that Nymeria is a better tracker than Greywind.”

Benjen throws another smile his way, before his eyes flick to the fire, a thoughtful look on his face.

“You don’t think?” Benjen asks, meeting his gaze.

“No,” he answers, shaking his head. “Sansa’s not Lyanna, she wouldn’t do this.”

“No, no she wouldn’t.”

They both fall into silence then, Ned staring at the flames, and praying to the Old Gods that his daughter is somehow safe out there, that she’s safe and figuring out a way to come home.

**

A raven arrives four days later, and it’s only thanks to Benjen and Rodrick that he doesn’t declare war then and there.


	5. Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Rhaeger plots (not subtly), Lyanna seethes (obviously), and Jon is suave (accidentally).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you so much for every who reads, bookmarks and kudos’. And a huge thanks to those who comment. I absolutely love hearing your thoughts about the characters and the story. Also your ideas about what should happen! I’m using a few that people have bought up cos they are actually perfect! (and will credit those people in the notes when they come to fruition).
> 
> Also I feel ‘my lady’ ‘your highness’ is going to become Sansa and Jon’s thing in this universe. Just saying ...
> 
> And last note to say that I hope you're all taking care of yourself in this climate! Stay safe awesome people <3

Standing at the door to the royal chambers, she hates that she’s so nervous. It isn’t like she hasn’t dined with Kings before, hasn’t dined with those whose motives she wasn’t sure of. But the King and Queen in this world aren’t like those before them, they are Jon’s parents, and even though she keeps reminding herself she is not here for her own fairytale, she wants them to like her.

“Sansa?”

She can’t help but step back at the voice, unable to stop the way she relaxes slightly at the man who resembles her lord father so much. She had heard so much about her Uncle Brandon in her previous life, how he was kind and strong, how he was one of the best swordsmen in the North, how Robb was so much like him. She wants so badly to trust him, but she doesn’t have enough pieces of the puzzle to do so yet.

Why was he here? Why had he not married her mother like he had been betrothed to do? What had happened between the Stark siblings that had the King trying to impress her to bridge the gap that had opened up between them?

“Ser Brandon,” she replies, not missing the wince on the knight’s face, it easing when she follows it with, “Uncle.”

“I must apologize for what happened in the throne room,” her Uncle starts, looking shamefaced. “I should not have pulled you into a hug without your per-”

And she’s not sure why she does it, maybe the look on a face that looks so much like her father, or because today has been a trying day, and it’s still not over, or maybe because he thinks to apologise for his actions, but she reaches over and hugs him, needing the comfort she wishes she was getting from her father. Her eyes sting as she thinks of her family, wishing they were here with her. She can’t help but hide her smile in his shoulder when he hugs her back tightly.

“I took no offence,” she replies, as they both pull away. “And perhaps we might find some time to talk the two of us?”

The smile that blooms across her Uncle’s face, his hand cupping her cheek for a moment, before falling away and squeezing her shoulder, eases some of the tension she hadn’t even realized she was carrying.

She’s missed her family something fierce, missed their love and support, and even though she knows she can’t trust him until she knows their story, a part of her desperately wants to.

“Of course,” he answers, before taking a step back. “But for now you have others who wish a moment of your time.”

She nods her head, smiling as he opens the door, announcing her as she enters. The King is sitting at the table, but rises with a smile on his face, whilst her Aunt stands at the doors to their balcony, turning with a guarded look.

“Your Graces,” she says, lowering into a curtsy.

“Oh please, none of that in here, Lady Sansa, not when we’re alone,” Rhaegar says, coming forwards, pulling her up from her curtsy. “We are family after all.”

She sees her Aunt stiffen out of the corner of her eye, and can feel her Uncle do the same behind her.

What exactly had happened here?

“Of course, Your Grace,” she replies, the King leading her over to the table.

“How did you find the gardens? Your rooms?” he asks as they sit, Aunt Lyanna coming over and joining them, her Uncle Brandon standing at attention at the door.

“They were lovely,” she answers, a real smile crossing her face. “As were the dresses, Your Grace.”

Rhaegar grins at her then, reaching out and grabbing his wife’s hand. She can see then, with the look on his face, how much he loves his wife, and the way the Queen’s eyes soften tells her that she feels the same.

“It was the least we could do after all you’ve been through,” the King responds, nodding as servants start to bring food over to the table, filling their cups with wine. “I’m sorry for what you’ve been through in your short time in King’s Landing, although it does raise the question of _how_ you came to be in King’s Landing.”

She decides to go with the same answer she gave to Sarella, knowing that her youth and innocent face will stop some of the harder questions she no doubt would have gotten if she were older.

“In truth, Your Grace, I don’t know. The last thing I remember is Winterfell, and then waking up to Sarella.”

“I can’t begin to imagine what Ned must be feeling,” her Aunt says, giving her a small smile. Sansa doesn’t miss the fact that she hadn’t mentioned her mother.

“I sent my parents a raven earlier,” she replies, taking a small bite of the food as soon as the King and Queen do. “Hopefully it’ll ease some of their worry.”

“We had our Hand send one as well. Hopefully they will receive them quickly and send a reply soon. Until then, you are our most welcome guest,” Lyanna continues, relaxing a little when Sansa sends her a small smile.

“That’s very kind, Your Grace.”

They eat in silence for a few moments, before the King picks up his wine glass again.

“You know, I couldn’t help but notice how Jon jumped at the chance to escort you to your rooms,” Rhaegar adds, taking a sip of his wine.

“Rhaegar,” her Aunt chides, tense look crossing her face again.

“What? Just a harmless observation,” he replies, and Sansa hates the way it makes her stomach tighten a little, thinking that Jon wanted to spend time with her.

“He was very kind to do so,” she answers, smiling politely, before going back to her meal, hating the way her face feels warm.

“Your father is still yet to betroth you to someone, yes?”

“Rhaegar.”

This time her Aunt’s tone is sharp, the displeasure clear on her face as she glares at her husband, and the King _can’t_ be implying what he’s implying.

“You already know how I feel about betrothals,” she continues, voice like ice. “And this is not a conversation you should be having with Sansa, particularly given you’ve already practically betrothed our son.”

Sansa’s sure that her Aunt continues to speak after that, but everything seems to freeze as the words play themselves over again in her head.

_You’ve already practically betrothed our son._

She takes a large gulp of her drink then, hoping it will allow her to collect her thoughts, although from the hissed argument happening across from her, she need not have worried too much.

Jon’s betrothed?

And even though she had repeatedly been telling herself that she wasn’t here for a fairytale, having learnt that those pretty dreams she’d had in her past life were not for her, a small part of her, buried down where she’d locked those thoughts she’d had for Jon in her past life, had still hoped.

She takes a deep breath then, reminding herself that she isn’t here for her, she’s here for her pack, and tunes back into the conversation in front of her.

“-not believe you would do it without Jon’s consent.”

“Perhaps,” Brandon interrupts, “this is a conversation for another time. When your niece isn’t here to bear witness?”

And just like that Rhaegar and Lyanna’s gaze dart to her. She gives them both a weak smile.

“You have my word I won’t breath this to anyone,” she says, unable to stop herself from adding, “although I must admit a curiosity to the lady that is going to be betrothed to his highness.”

“It’s not yet official, with a few things yet to clarify, although we had been planning to announce it soon.”

“If Cersei had her way, it would have been signed and announced the moment her daughter was born.”

Lyanna’s words have her freezing, limbs feeling numb as she realizes who it is Jon may be betrothed to. She had only met Myrcella a few times in her past life, a lovely girl, and if it was just her Sansa might be able to live with seeing Jon betrothed to, and married to, the girl.

But with her comes her family, her grandfather, her uncle, her _mother_ , and Sansa doesn’t need a crystal ball to see the events that will transpire in the future if Jon and Myrcella marry.

House Lannister had always wanted the Iron Throne, and they wouldn’t marry their daughter and granddaughter to the second son, if they didn’t have a plan to make him the heir, and then to remove him from the equation entirely.

“I think that I might rethink the possible arrangement,” Rhaegar adds, taking another bite of his meal. Lyanna’s eyes narrow further, and Sansa knows that now is the time to leave.

“Forgive my rudeness, Your Graces, but I find that the day has taken its toll on me, and my body seems to need rest more than sustenance,” she says as she stands.

“Lady Sansa,” Rhaegar begins, looking contrite and apologetic as he stands and moves around the table towards her. “I must once again ask for your forgiveness for having to see such a display.”

“And once again, there is nothing to forgive, your Grace.”

That seems to relax Rhaegar, if the way his shoulder's drop slightly is any indication.

“If you’ll excuse me,” she says, curtsying before making her way to the door. Her Uncle escorts her out, grabbing her arm gently before she makes her way down the corridor.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Sansa?” he asks worriedly.

“I just need a good night sleep,” she replies, drawing a smile to her face. “I’m sure I’ll see you in the morning, Uncle.”

And with that, she pulls her arm out of his grasp, beating a hasty retreat down the hallway, guards following behind her to escort her to her chambers. They seem to stop a short distance from her door, and she tenses when she sees a dark figure push itself away from a wall down the hallway.

“Jon,” she whispers when he moves into the light, a small smile on his face.

“I had hoped that we could address each other in such casual terms,” he replies as he moves towards her, the intensity of his eyes making her heart race.

“Forgive me,” she starts to say, realising her error, only for him to shake his head and take a step closer.

“Please, I hope that we can continue to use such terms when we’re alone.”

She turns then, noting that the corridor is completely empty, the guards having disappeared completely.

“Sansa,” he continues, much closer to her than a moment ago, so close that she can feel the heat emanating off him. Had he always been so warm? She looks up into his eyes, swallowing hard at the intensity in which he looks back at her.

“I wanted to apologise for how I spoke earlier. Egg has always said that I’m terrible at speaking to pretty girls.”

She tries to will the flush away from her cheeks at his words, tries to ignore the warmth that fills her at him calling her pretty. She had almost forgotten what it felt like to be the sole focus of his gaze, how it had made her feel like they were the only two people in the room, how it made her feel like she was one of the only people who _mattered_ to him.

“Forgive me?”

He moves a fraction closer then, her mouth drying up when he reaches up and cups her cheek, thumb brushing gently along it.

“There’s nothing to forgive,” she answers hoarsely, reminding herself that he’s to be betrothed, that she’s here to protect her pack, and to ignore the butterflies that are flying around in her stomach.

“Forgive me?” he repeats, moving even closer, mouth a hair breadths away from hers.

“Alright,” she answers, not able to stop herself from reaching out and placing a hand on his chest. “Alright, I forgive you.”

He grins then, the look something she had sorely missed, only for it to fade as he glances down at her mouth. She knows what’s going to happen next, telling herself to stop it, but her body seems to want to ignore her, leaning closer instead of pulling away, only for the moment to be broken by the loud ‘Jon!’ that comes from the end of the corridor.

Aegon Targaryen comes striding down the corridor, amused smirk on his face at clearly having seen them jerk apart.

“Here you are, little brother,” he says as he draws closer. “I went by your chambers, father wishes to speak to us, but imagine my shock when you weren’t there at this time of night?”

Jon’s jaw clenches, glaring at his brother, who simply smiles innocently back.

“I came to apologise to Lady Sansa.”

“Already put your foot in it?” Aegon replies, eyes sparkling with mischief when they glance over at her.

“Not at all,” Sansa says, hating the way she feels cold when she takes a further step away from Jon. She tries to ignore the sharp gaze that draws from Jon, the way her cheeks flush because of it.

“Hmm,” Aegon hums, eyes darting between the two of them. “As interesting as this is, and don’t think we won’t be discussing this later, little brother, father appears to have gotten news that cannot wait until morning.”

That seems to draw Jon’s gaze, frown crossing his face as he nods shortly.

“Very well.”

She’s grateful for the darker hallway when Jon reaches out and grabs her hand then, knowing that her cheeks would have been glowing and clear to see if there had been more light, especially when he places a gentle kiss on the back of it like he had the last time.

“My Lady.”

“Your Highness,” she replies, knowing it comes out much more breathless than she means. He holds onto her hand and gaze for a moment longer, before letting go and moving towards his brother.

Aegon grins at the two of them, before throwing his arm around Jon’s shoulders, Jon pushing him off as they walk away. Aegon’s laughter and Jon’s quiet voice fading away as they turn the corner.

She takes a deep breath then, closing her eyes as she reminds herself the reason she’s here is for her pack, not for a fairytale.


	6. Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Littlefinger is once again a creep (no surprises), Brandon is aiming to be Uncle of the year (watch out Benjen!), and Sansa gets a glimpse into her past life (very briefly).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, a huge thank you to you all for reading, bookmarking and kudo'ing (is that a word? I don't know, let's just flow with it). And even bigger thanks to those who commented on the last chapter! I absolutely love hearing your thoughts and ideas. They literally make my day when I see the notification in my inbox.
> 
> I have to admit, part of this chapter was inspired by something ohmywizardgod mentioned in one of their comments! So shoutout to them and their fantastic idea! :D. I also didn't realise this would be mainly a Sansa and Brandon bonding chapter, but there you go, LOL.
> 
> Also, hope you're all looking after yourselves <3.

“… some thought, Ned.”

“I have given it some thought, Cat, and nothing good can come from it.”

Sansa can’t help but gasp as she hears the voices, chest hurting, aching, as she hears the sound of her parents after so long. She can’t stop the tears in her eyes as she rushes towards the door, frustration running through her when all she can do is look through the small crack, something stopping her from pushing it open.

But even with only a crack, she can see them, her father standing by the fire, her mother sitting in a chair, needlework in her lap. She can’t stop the tears as they run down her face.

“You miss them,” her mother replies, leaning forwards. “I know you do. They’re your family, Ned. _Our_ family.”

“Something they both conveniently forgot until it was of use to them.”

“You don’t mean that.” Her mother puts down her needlework and moves over to him, gently taking his face in her hands. “I understand your anger, but I also know what that anger is doing to you, my love. You can’t keep going on with this unresolved, with it hurting you more and more.”

Sansa doesn’t know how it happens, but she accidentally falls on the door, able to right herself before she falls onto the floor, looking up at the two shocked faces.

“Sansa, sweetling, what are you doing out of bed?” her father asks, starting to move towards her.

She gasps awake before he makes it to her, tears streaming down her face, hand reaching out for a man who isn’t there. She can’t help the little sob that leaves her when she sees she’s in her room in the Keep, the ache in her chest still making it hard to breath.

She lets herself have a few moments to feel the grief, before she wipes the tears away, taking a deep breath and locking the feeling away. She will see her family again, soon, and this time she will make sure they stay safe.

The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives.

And she will make sure they all do this time.

Beylee, the maid that has been assigned to assist her, comes in not long after, quickly helping her dress and telling her that breakfast is being served.

“I think I might take a walk around the garden first,” Sansa replies, finishing her braid, the dream still making her feel too raw to talk to anyone else.

“Of course, my lady,” Beylee answers, curtsying as Sansa leaves the room.

The fresh air helps to wash away the cobwebs that linger from the dream. It had seemed so real, Sansa feeling like it was more a memory than a dream, but she can’t recall ever seeing anything like that in her past life. She looks over the bay, letting the sun warm her face.

“Beautiful sight isn’t it?”

And just like that, the peace she was starting to feel is gone, replaced with the deep resentment she has for the man who comes to stand next to her, like he has a right to, a fraction too close to be proper.

“There is nothing like this in Winterfell I would gather?”

“No, my lord,” she answers, turning to where Baelish stands and placing some distance between them. “But then I’d wager there is nothing like the Godswood down here.”

“Oh,” he replies, shifting closer again. “The Queen ensured that the Godswood here is quite the sight I assure you.”

She only just stops herself from gritting her teeth, from stepping away again. Every part of her screaming to get away from this snake, but she knows that this world’s Sansa has no reason to, has no reason to be wary of this man who claims to be a close friend of her mother’s.

So instead she manages to pull a polite mask to her face, a small smile to match, and she can’t help but feel somewhat proud when she sees that he falls for it. That feeling vanishes though when he reaches out and gently pulls on a lock of hair she missed, tucking it behind her ear, hand stilling to cup the side of her head, the motion making her feel sick.

Before she can do anything a loud ‘Baelish’ rips through the sudden quiet.

“Ser Brandon,” Baelish replies, letting go of her and taking a step back.

Her Uncle moves between them then, the look on his face thunderous.

“You would dare,” he starts.

“I was simply admiring the view with the Lady Sansa and offering to be a friend,” Baelish cuts him off. Her Uncle snorts at that, taking a step closer to him.

“You’re lucky it’s me and not Ned here seeing you offering your ‘friendship’.”

“Ahh, yes, but then, I wonder what Lord Eddard thinks of you and your sister given this situation?”

Baelish’s comment has Brandon stiffening, Sansa able to see it in his back, and it makes her hate Littlefinger that little bit more.

“I think you’d best be on your way, my _lord_ ,” her Uncle snarls, and Sansa has to stop the smirk that wants to make it’s way on her face. Baelish will learn soon enough that they very much embody their sigil.

“Of course,” Baelish replies, oily smirk crossing his face, eyes flashing with a hatred that Sansa’s sure no one else but her would see. “Lady Sansa, Ser Brandon.”

The look he sends her makes her feel like she should cross her arms to hide from his gaze, but she just lets a pleasant look cross her face instead, as if she doesn’t know what he is. It falls away as soon as he leaves them.

“You can’t trust that man, Sansa,” Brandon starts, concerned look on his face as he turns to her. It makes the ache in her chest, the one that’s been there since she lost her father and only worsened with every other family member she lost, ease a little. She reaches out and hugs him then, sure that anyone seeing might just think she’s overwhelmed, and part of her is, but it’s also so she can murmur a quiet “I know.”

When she draws back, she sees the concerned look change to confusion, her Uncle clearly thinking that he would have to explain to her why she shouldn’t trust Baelish. And in that moment, she knows that if he knew what that man had put her through, Baelish would be dead faster than he could blink.

“Sarella said something similar,” she continues, knowing that she had to explain to her Uncle why she doesn’t trust the other man without having met him in this life. Brandon nods at that, seeming to believe her reason, gently taking her arm and threading it through his.

“But perhaps we can speak of that another time,” she hints, hoping he will understand what she is saying. She can’t help but feel relief when he gives her a small nod, something in his face telling her that they _will_ be discussing it at another time, but that he won’t speak anymore of Baelish at this point.

“I do have to wonder a little though,” she continues as they start to walk around the garden, wondering just how far she can go, how far her Uncle’s love for her will allow her to push. “What Lord Baelish meant about my father and you and my Aunt?”

She can feel his arm tense at the question, before it relaxes a moment later.

“I’m sure you’re aware that things are … strained, between your father and us?”

“That’s certainly one way of putting it, Uncle.”

He gives her a tight smile then, eyes flicking to her, before looking off in the distance.

“And I would like to tell you why that is, but honestly Ned is angry enough at me as it is, rightfully so, to be honest, and I don’t wish to give him more reasons to be.”

He looks at her apologetically, looking more like Robb than her father in that moment. It’s because of that that she can’t let herself push further, knowing she could get more information if she wanted.

“Of course, Uncle,” she replies, patting his arm gently, feeling him relax at the touch.

“I have to admit,” Brandon says, “you’re nothing like I expected, Sansa.”

“Oh?”

“I may have … reports, that tell me how you all are going in Winterfell,” he admits, almost sheepishly, and Sansa knows that in a past life, before the horrors she had lived through, it may have annoyed her. But now she knows she’d do the same, if she was away from her pack, and the fact her Uncle wants to make sure they’re safe is something she can relate to.

She raises an eyebrow, amused look on her face. Her Uncle grins back at her, looking so much like Robb still that she can’t stop the sting that comes to her eyes. She’s not sure why she has become so emotional in this place. Perhaps losing her family, but now knowing they are out there has thrown her emotions out of order.

“I’m starting to think I overpaid the people that brought them to me.”

“Why?” she asks, feeling a little confused.

“Because,” her Uncle replies, stopping and facing her, their arms falling back to their sides. “Whilst they had all mentioned your beauty, your grace, not one of them had mentioned your intelligence, your spirit. They mentioned that you looked like your mother, and wished to be a southern lady in every way. But meeting you, speaking with you, I can’t imagine how it is they missed how clearly you are also a Stark, how you embody your sigil just like your father.”

She hates the way the words fill her with warmth, with pride, trying to remind herself that it was pride that started her down the road to ruin last time. But this is her Uncle, her _real_ Uncle, a man that’s so like her father and brother that she knows he’s not a slimy rat that’s trying to manipulate her.

She can’t stop the genuine happy smile that crosses her face, the sight bringing a similar one to Brandon’s face.

“I promise you, Sansa,” he says then, reaching out and squeezing her shoulder. “Until your family get here I will protect you.”

She reaches up and squeezes his hand then.

“You are my family,” she replies, wondering if she’s imagining the mistiness that enters her Uncle’s eyes. The moment is interrupted by a guard a short moment later, advising that the King is requesting Brandon.

“We will speak again soon.”

“I look forwards to it,” she replies, feeling more relaxed now then she had all morning.

She spends the rest of the day relearning this new Keep, meeting the ladies that make up her Aunt’s court, and putting more pieces of the puzzle she needs to know together. Part of her is sad not to see Margaery there yet, knowing the Tyrell’s are dangerous in their own way, but had always been a friend to her in her past life.

It isn’t until she’s retiring to bed that she realizes that she didn’t see either Sarella or Jon at all during the day. And to be honest, she had thought Sarella would have been at her door first thing that morning, clearly wanting to make a plan to take down Littlefinger and action it as soon as possible.

She wonders, as she lies in bed, staring at the bright moon outside her balcony windows, what could have kept the Dornish woman away, the thought the last thing on her mind before she drifts off to sleep.


	7. Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sarella appears (not well) and Sansa gets more pieces to the puzzle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all are looking after yourselves! Always happy to have a chat if people need?
> 
> As always, thank you to those who read, bookmarked and kudos'd the last chapter. And huge thank you to those who commented! You guys really make my day :D.
> 
> Heads up that there's very brief mention in this chapter about Elia. Her story is nothing like what happened in GoT (and I will forever be bitter that Oberyn didn't get revenge on Tywin and the Mountain for what they did), but just wanted to let people know.
> 
> And only a couple more chapters until we get some other Stark's making an appearance!

“Heard you had a run in with Littlefinger yesterday.”

The voice has Sansa jumping just as she finishes dressing, heart flying up into her throat, only just stopping the panic that makes her want to freeze. She hates the reaction, a throwback to how she felt around Ramsay, sure that she had stomped it down a long time ago. She also can’t help but wonder how the other woman had managed to get into her rooms without either her or Beylee aware of it, wondering if she’d teach her how to do it.

“I would appreciate it if you would announce yourself when you enter my rooms.”

Her words die in her throat when she turns and takes in the other girl, the bruise around her eye and cut on her cheek clear to see. Sarella simply raises an eyebrow back, moving slowly as she sits down. She hides it well, but Sansa can see the wince when she reaches for a piece of fruit from the plate that Beylee had bought her that morning. Her maid had made it quite clear how displeased she had been when she found out that Sansa had not broken her fast in the morning the day before. Not eating until lunch.

“I had wanted to test my theory about your first words on waking,” the Dornish girl replies, grinning slightly, before a more somber look crosses her face. “But I will endeavor to ensure you know when I enter in future.”

“Thank you,” Sansa replies, patting her dress down, wondering what has happened to the girl since she saw her last, and if it had anything to do with Prince Aegon coming to get Jon the other night. 

“Although I must admit surprise that this didn’t occur sooner than today?” she asks, having a feeling that the girl likely won’t answer why it hadn’t.

Sarella just grins at that, taking a bite of the fruit that she had grabbed.

“Turns out that things got more complicated than I realized when I left you the other day. Although a little birdie tells me that my dear cousin might be smoother than I had given him credit for?”

Sarella has a big grin on her face then, eyes shining in amusement as she lifts a questioning brow, some of the weight she had carried as she sat down seeming to fall away. Sansa turns away from her, trying to will the heat on her cheeks down.

“That will be all for now, Beylee,” she says, buying some time to will her reaction away. Her maid can’t hide her own grin, giving a small curtsy before leaving, closing the door behind her.

“Prince Jon simply came to apologise,” she continues once the maid has left.

“Oh, is that what they call it these days?”

Sansa can’t help but roll her eyes, turning around to face the other woman. She knows her concern must show on her face, as Sarella’s grin loses some of its amusement. Before she can ask her what happened, Sarella quickly adds,

“And from what I heard the rat got quite familiar yesterday?”

Sansa can still remember the way Baelish had stood too close, how he had felt comfortable grabbing the lock of her hair, it reminding her of the way he had slowly built up his courage to kiss her in her past life. She feels her hand clench then, Sarella’s eyes darting down to it, before looking back up at her.

“He did, but Uncle Brandon advised him not to be so in the future.”

That gets a snort from the other girl, Sarella taking another bite of the fruit.

“I bet Brandon would have loved to have done more than just ‘advise’.”

Sansa would bet on that too. She wonders if their history is the same here, feeling that the hatred that had been in Baelish’s eyes when he’d looked at her Uncle would suggest that it was.

“What happened?” she asks quietly, changing the topic as she moves over to the table. Sarella just shakes her head, looking out the window.

“Didn’t you tell me the walls have ears?”

And she did, because they do.

“Perhaps we should go for a walk?” she suggests, Sarella looking back over to her with guarded eyes, before she gives a small nod. Sansa doesn’t miss the sluggish way the girl gets up from the chair, nothing like the way she had moved before. Reaching out, Sansa takes her arm and threads it through her own, the move bringing another smile to the girl’s face. She squeezes her arm before they walk out.

It takes them slightly longer to reach the bay then it would have before, Sansa letting the girl lean on her when she needs to, though making it look like the other girl is leading her.

“Thank you,” she says quietly, taking a deep breath when they reach the pier.

“What happened?” Sansa asks again, worried at the paleness of the other girl, the way the sweat dots her brow.

Sarella takes a long look at her, something unreadable in her eyes, before she looks back over the bay.

“How much do you know about my Aunt Elia?” she asks.

Sansa knew the story of Elia Martell in her past life, having learnt about it whilst in King’s Landing from both Cersei and Prince Oberyn, but given how different this world is, she has no idea what had happened to the woman here.

“Not much,” she answers truthfully.

“She was an amazing woman,” Sarella starts, eyes still staring out over the water. “I only met her a few times when I was very little, and whilst I can’t remember much, I remember her laughter, her hugs. My father adored her, and it nearly broke him when she died.”

Sansa can feel the sorrow in the girl’s words, her own chest aching at the memory of losing her family.

“It was just stupid luck that Egg and Rhae weren’t with her that day,” she continues, “they were meant to go, but Egg was sick and Rhae wanted to stay back to look after her baby brother.”

“Where were they meant to go?” she asks, already dreading where the story is going.

“It was just a routine visit, to a village nearby that had been hit hard by a recent fire. Aunt Elia and her ladies in waiting were always doing things like that, wanting the people to know that regardless of station that they were important, and that the crown cared.”

Sansa can’t help but be impressed, having seen how others ruled and their disregard for the common folk. She had always tried to think of all her people, had often gone to Wintertown to do something similar to Elia.

“They say it was bandits. The ‘evidence’ says it was bandits.”

“You don’t agree?”

“Do you?” Sarella responds, turning to her.

“Bandits getting the best of the Kingsguard, who I assume would have escorted her?” Sansa replies, Sarella nodding. “If they had had large numbers, they might have caught them unaware?”

“Except my father himself looked into it, and the amount of bandits would not have been enough, should not have been enough, to overpower all the guards that were with her that day. And there was no evidence that the guards had tried to get my Aunt away.”

Sansa feels a cold chill go down her spine.

“You think someone planned it, an ambush?”

Sarella nods.

“I don’t think they planned on my Aunt fighting back though. She was somewhat frail in health, but from what my father saw, she fought back, killed some of those who were there to kill her.”

Sarella looks behind them, some uneasiness creeping onto her face.

“There are Houses plotting against the crown, against my Uncle and my cousins. I think they’re the same Houses that plotted against my Aunt. And I think your Aunt ruined their plans for how things were meant to progress after Aunt Elia’s death.”

“I had been told that there was a man who wanted to give me information, turns out it was a ploy to get me alone and remove me from the equation.”

Sansa can’t stop herself from taking a step forwards, feeling her chest tighten at the thought of this Dornish girl dying, realizing that in the short time they’ve known each other, even though she had warned herself not to, she’s started to consider her a friend.

“Luckily I’m better with daggers than they thought, they underestimated me this time, but I won’t be as lucky the next time.”

“You wanted to help me with Baelish,” Sansa replies, “is this why?”

“Part of it, there’s more to it than that, but yes, I know he’s part of the shadows moving against my Uncle.”

“And the other shadows?” she asks, Sarella shrugs her shoulder at that.

“I have my suspicions, as does my father, but nothing we can use yet.”

Sansa has her own suspicions, sure, without a doubt, that the Lannisters are likely involved.

“So any more updates for dealing with the mockingbird?” Sarella asks, changing the subject.

“I’m still working that out,” she replies honestly, voice a quiet murmur that only Sarella can hear, “if we move too quickly, if he gets wind of anything, he’ll slip through our trap and turn it around on us.”

“You think he’s that good?”

“He is,” Sansa answers, feeling a cold shiver run down her spine, as she remembers how easily Littlefinger played the game, how easily he destroyed her family, how he had played things to try and turn her and Arya against each other.

“Then we’ll have to make sure what we have is something he can’t squirm his way out of.”

“Agreed,” Sansa says, the two of them sharing a small smile.

Taking a deep breath and looking out over the water, Sansa thinks about some of the ideas she’d had the night before, but at this point, she’s still not sure exactly how this world functions, what Baelish’s role in it is, in order to put any of those ideas into motion. But there is one person who would, who puts the good of the realm above anything else, and whilst she can’t trust him, perhaps she can trust him enough to give her a clearer idea of the picture here.

But was the man even still a player here?

“Is there a Lord Varys here?” she asks, not missing the shock that crosses Sarella’s face.

“How in all of Westeros do you know the Spider?”

“Can you get me a meeting with him, without anyone knowing?” she continues, feeling somewhat relieved to know that the man is here and likely the Master of Whisperers still.

Sarella takes a long moment to respond, her eyes searching Sansa’s face closely. It’s in that moment that Sansa is reminded that there is a lot more to this girl then the cocky, cheekiness that she portrays, reminded again of a wolf when the girl stills.

“One of these days, red wolf,” she starts quietly, leaning forwards. “You’re going to tell me that story that haunts your eyes.”

Sansa goes to reply, opening her mouth, only to close it when Sarella holds up a hand, shaking her head.

“I’ll get you a meeting with Varys.”

Before Sansa can say anything more, guards walk down towards them, the two of them falling silent as they walk up.

“Forgive me, my ladies,” one of them says, getting an eye roll from Sarella again, “but the King has ordered us to escort his niece to his chambers.”

Sansa doesn’t miss the knowing nod that Sarella gives the guard.

“Well, until next time, Lady Sansa,” Sarella says, giving an exaggerated bow, Sansa unable to stop the amused smile the move brings to her face, even if she’s worried at what the move might do to her already injured friend.


	8. Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sansa gets hit with a blast from the past (not quite a Ramsay Bolton warning, but he's mentioned), Jon is Jon (and continues to be accidentally smooth), and Varys comes into play (and is impressed with Sansa)!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: for description of a mild panic attack in this chapter!
> 
> So I rewrote this chapter so many times!!! Firstly the scene with Varys, I just couldn't seem to get exactly right, but after rewriting it so much I've just left it with the latest iteration (and I personally feel Varys never liked Baelish, but had bigger fish to fry in playing the game (mainly the Lannisters)). And then rewrote the person she runs into that causes her to have a mild panic attack multiple times too! So let me know what you think (and I may rewrite it again XD).
> 
> As always, thank you so much to everyone who read, bookmarked and kudos'd! And huge thank you to those who commented, it's been a tough week and your comments really made my day.
> 
> Also, apologies that this is a bit later than usual! Hectic week.
> 
> Hope you are all looking after yourselves and are going okay?

It’s clear to see that something is going on in the Keep, Sansa not missing the hurrying of some of the more senior knights, the meetings that the King, the Queen and their advisors seem to have been in for the last few days. She wonders if Jon is still in them, not forgetting the way Prince Aegon had come to get him to talk with their father the last night she’d seen him.

These thoughts are running through her head as she walks down the hallway with some of the other ladies, just having finished their lunch, only to all freeze when they hear a small cry.

Rounding the corner, Sansa quickly takes in the maid on the floor holding her face, a woman standing over her. She doesn’t spare another glance for the woman, rushing forwards and helping the maid off the floor.

The girl winces when she stands, unable to stop the flinch when Sansa gently runs her hand over the mark on her face, the red area already swelling.

There are other maids down the end of the corridor, clearly also having been drawn to the noise.

“Beylee,” she calls out when she sees the maid that has been assisting her. “Would you kindly escort this young lady to my rooms and tend to her please?”

Beylee comes forward hesitantly, eyes glancing to the woman that Sansa still has yet to face, curtsying with a quick ‘milady’ before she gently guides the maid away. Turning, the question Sansa has on the tip of her tongue dies, her body freezing as calculating jade eyes meet hers.

“You’re Sansa Stark, no?”

Her voice is just as she remembers it, tone quite sweet and comforting, but Sansa remembers her standing next to Ramsay, remembers the words she hissed to her, and she tries to remind herself that this is a different life.

“I am,” she replies, forcing herself to relax. “But I do not have the honour, Lady …?”

“Soon to be Lady Bolton,” Myranda answers, attempting a sweet smile that falls flat due to the malicious look in her eyes. Sansa lets her sentence replay in her head, trying to slow her heart rate. She has no doubt in her mind that Ramsay is exactly the same in this world as he was in the last, exactly as cruel and sinister and sadistic, something like fear clutching at her throat, her chest feeling like it’s being crushed by the tight dress she’s wearing. 

She can’t let her emotions out yet, not with the girl in front of her looking at her curiously now. A question for later will be, is the ‘soon to be’ because Myranda is not yet married to Ramsay, or because they have not yet been given the opportunity to depose Roose Bolton.

But right now she has to get away from this woman and the feelings she’s evoked.

“Well, my Lady,” Sansa says, not missing the way the other girl preens at the address. “Whilst we all get frustrated, the Queen does not take kindly to her maids being struck. Something to think on whilst you are in King’s Landing.”

“But if you’ll excuse me, my ladies,” she continues, turning to address them all. “I’ve just remembered an urgent errand that I need to see to.”

With a small curtsy, she starts moving away, careful to make sure her steps are even, not wanting them to see her rushing. Rounding the corner, she can’t stop the way her breaths come in short gasps now, her dress feeling even tighter, black spots dancing in her vision. She leans against the wall once she feels she’s far enough away, trying to slow her breathing.

“… Sansa?”

She can’t help but flinch at the hand on her arm, recoiling slightly at the figure that seems to have just appeared next to her, only to stop when she sees Jon’s face come into view.

He takes her in for a moment, worried gaze running over her, before he’s guiding her somewhere, all of it a blur until something gently hits the back of her legs. She sits down slowly, hands guiding her to lean forwards, warm hand seeming almost awkward where it rests on her back, stroking slowly.

“My dress,” she manages to get out, it still feeling too tight. “The laces.”

If she was more aware, she wouldn’t have missed the way the words make his face flame, the way his pupils darkened, his hands pulling away from her in a surprised jerk.

“My lady,” he starts to say, only to stop when she looks up at him with a quiet “Please, Jon.”

He stares at her for a long moment, before his hands go to her back. She doesn’t remember much until she’s able to take a deep breath, the laces no longer constricting her chest. She closes her eyes then, trying to remember the breathing techniques that Maester Wolkan had taught her, the breaths taking some time to even out.

She still feels shaky when she finally opens her eyes, but the spots are gone, she can take in the room they’re in, can hear people moving around outside. Jon stands awkwardly near her, eyes looking at anything but her, the action making warmth swoop through her. His eyes dart to hers when she sits up straight, relief crossing his face.

He comes and kneels in front of her then, gently taking her hands in his large, warm ones.

“Sansa?”

She knows it’s too familiar, knows that she shouldn’t, but she can’t stop leaning forwards, letting their foreheads rest against each other. His warmth and calm gaze help to settle her further, his thumbs rubbing reassuringly on her hands, and she’s reminded that he was there last time, helped her to stop the man that still haunts her nightmares.

“I’m alright,” she whispers, nose rubbing against Jon’s gently, their breaths mingling.

“Who did this?” he asks gruffly.

She shakes her head then, pulling back and looking into his eyes, not missing the worry and anger in them.

“No one,” she answers, “I was just caught off guard is all.”

She knows he doesn’t believe her completely, clearly about to ask something more when the door to the room they’re in is thrown open. They both jerk apart slightly when Brandon walks in, eyebrow raising as he takes in the position they are in, clearly not missing the loosened dress, or the fact that Jon is still holding her hands.

“Uncle Brandon.”

“Jon,” he replies with an amused look. “Your father sent me to find you. He wishes to speak to you and Prince Aegon again.”

None of them move, Sansa biting her lip to stop the small laugh that wants to leave her at the situation, knowing how it must look, but knowing that Jon would never take advantage of her.

“Perhaps I should wait outside?” he continues, winking at Sansa when Jon is looking away. “Although I would just like to remind you that you’re still to best me with a sword.”

With that, and a severe look at Jon that Sansa is fairly confident is just for show, he leaves the room, closing the door behind him. Jon stares at it for a moment longer, before turning back to her.

“Are you going to need a hand with that?” he asks, indicating her back where the laces are still loose, the smirk on his face somewhat ruined by the blush that follows.

Rolling her eyes, she pulls her hands out of his grip, not missing the way his fingers curl around hers for a long moment before letting go.

“I’ll manage,” she replies, the two of them rising.

She’s not surprised when he takes one of her hands, kissing her knuckles for longer than is proper.

“My Lady.”

“Your Highness.”

**

“A little bird told me that you wanted to meet me?”

The quiet words startle her out of her thoughts, turning her head to take in the man standing next to her. She had taken a walk in the garden after Jon had left her, the cool breeze off the bay calming her, as the sun warmed her.

He’s exactly like she remembers, bald head, calm face, well-made clothes, and a look in his eyes that tells you he knows more than you.

“That little bird was correct.”

“And what, pray tell, could the Rose of the North have to talk about with the King’s Spider?”

She takes a moment, wondering if she really is called the Rose of the North here, before answering.

“These are interesting times, my lord,” she starts. “People moving in the shadows, playing their games, and undoing your hard work at reaching your goal.”

“And what goal might that be?”

“Protecting the realm, with a ruler who is kind and fair,” she answers, not missing the surprised look on the man’s face, before he hides it away. He raises a curious eyebrow, eyes darting behind them, before stepping closer, indicating for her to go on.

“Firstly, my lord, may I ask about certain positions within the Keep?”

Varys nods his head, curiosity clear to see.

“Let’s start with yourself? How would losing you affect the lands?”

“Whilst I like to think I’m invaluable, there is no doubt that if I were removed as a piece in the game, it would still go on.”

“And how would it affect the King and the Queen?”

Varys stares at her, lowering his voice when he answers, “the King’s niece is more than adept at taking on my roll, and in fact often hears things before my little birds do. Though she does still lack a certain … subtlety.”

It doesn’t surprise Sansa that Sarella is more than she seems, but it does surprise her that the girl could technically take on the role of Master of Whisperers.

“And the Master of Coin?”

A knowing look enters Varys eyes then.

“Whilst he likes to think he’s an integral and irreplaceable piece, both myself and my replacement would be more than able to set right the wrongs removing that piece would have.”

Relief rushes through her at that, knowing that removing Baelish won’t have dire consequences for the crown or the lands. And also at the fact that Varys does seem to know exactly what she is hinting at.

“And what would be the punishment, my lord, for the kidnapping of a Lord’s daughter?”

Varys takes her in at the change of topic, before turning and looking back out over the Bay.

“Well, it would depend on whom the charges were brought against?”

“Say a Lord or two?”

She can see the curiosity in his gaze then, something shifting in the way he’s looking at her.

“Depending on the evidence, and the Lord’s standing, it could result in a number of things, including the loss of their title.”

Sansa lets silence descend between them as she thinks it over.

“Not death?” she asks finally, and she can tell that that has shocked Varys, by the way his head whips towards her.

“If played correctly,” he responds slowly, “perhaps.”

As much as she doesn’t want to kill anyone, or have them killed, she knows the only way to stop both Littlefinger and Ramsay, to stop them being a threat to her family, is for them both to die.

“Is death really necessary, my lady?”

“Anything less and they’ll still be alive to play their games,” she responds, wondering if she is playing her hand too soon, but knowing the man has already realized at least one of the lords she is talking about, “mockingbirds are so very good, after all, at pretending they’re something they are not.”

“You know I think I rather agree with your Uncle’s assessment.”

“Oh?” she asks, surprised at the sudden change in topic.

“Whilst I’ve never had reason to doubt my little birds, the information I had been given on you seems woefully … lacking.”

She can’t help but smile a little at that, not missing the mischievous look in the Spider’s gaze.

“And what had your little birds told you about me?”

“That you were a southern girl born into a northern family, that you dreamt of marrying a Prince and coming South, that you were beautiful, but simple, and that you were nothing like a Stark.”

“And now?” she asks.

And she knows, that whilst she can’t trust him, that the man looks to be on her side in this instance, something like admiration in his gaze.

“Now, my lady, I feel pity for those who think they see a fish, when in actuality, it’s a wolf waiting to strike.”

She looks away then, knowing that the other man has seen the smirk on her face.

**

She doesn’t see Jon or Sarella over the next few days, and can’t hide her frustration that she can’t seem to find out more about what’s going on.

All of that falls to the way side, when she walks into the garden one morning, and is almost knocked off her feet by a large grey wolf barreling into her.

“Lady?”


End file.
